


Business or Pleasure?

by NeoVenus22



Category: Stargate Atlantis, Stargate SG-1
Genre: Multi, OT4, Stargate Crossover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-03
Updated: 2010-02-03
Packaged: 2017-10-07 00:07:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/59210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeoVenus22/pseuds/NeoVenus22
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens in DC stays in DC.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Business or Pleasure?

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers: 10x03, 'The Pegasus Project'

**Business or Pleasure?  
The Incredibly True Story of John Sheppard's Unwitting Seduction**  
(Or, How the Military Dropped Hundreds of Dollars on a Hotel Room John Never Stayed In)

It starts with a filthy email in the usual info dump from the _Daedalus_. Vala pours out a slew of words that John thought were exclusive to Earth and, moreover, exclusive to porn. Just as baffled as he is turned on, he forwards the email to Mitchell to ask, "What the hell do you people _do_ there all day?"

When he finally gets the reply, Mitchell admits, "She says she wishes she'd 'gotten to know you better' when we were in Pegasus. I'm just glad she's stopped harassing Daniel, I thought he was going to go postal on us all."

John laughs, reads Vala's email over again (and again), then gets stuck with his team on a perpetually rainy planet for three days. A very wet three days that leaves him miserable, begging for time off, and he completely forgets all about the email.

After the first dry night he's had in awhile, he wakes up to a note in his inbox from Colonel Carter, asking (demanding) if John was the one responsible for teaching Vala thirty-two different terms for oral sex and giving her a list of 'acceptable' lesbian porn.

John thinks, not for the first time, that he's really glad he's in another galaxy, far, far away from these people. Amusing as they might be, he's come to the conclusion that they are _completely cracked_.

John forwards this email to Mitchell as well, sort of a 'neener neener', because as crazy as AR-1 might be, whatever sexual practices they take part in are kept firmly under wraps. John wants Mitchell to know precisely how crazy his team is.

He can practically hear Mitchell laughing three million light years away.

"All I know is that list showed up in Vala's room after she propositioned Daniel in the Pentagon, and Daniel threatened to quit," the return email says. "I don't know how it got there."

What he doesn't add, but what is ripe in the subtext, is that the idea of Vala and Carter is more than a little hot. It goes without saying.

Two weeks later, John has a small folder dedicated to the hilarious-slash-hot emails from Vala that he hasn't told anyone (except Mitchell) about. In that same folder is a few candid pictures Mitchell's snapped of 'the girls': Carter obligingly letting Vala feed her a spoonful of red Jello, Vala falling asleep in a lab with Carter's hand on her back. John thinks Mitchell must have had insane black ops training to pull off these photos without either woman finding out and killing him for it.

He's just laughing over one of Vala's latest e-seductions when Elizabeth sticks her head in the door to tell him it's his turn to go back to Earth and meet with the IOA. John doesn't mention that the Joint Chiefs hate him, the IOA hates him, or that Landry might accidentally 'lose' him and send someone else back in his place. Instead, he suddenly finds himself thinking about SG-1's visit to Atlantis, the way Vala 'accidentally' brushed against him coming out of the briefing.

He complains all the way to the 'gate room the day of his trip, promises Rodney he'll bring back some Hot Pockets, rolls his eyes at Elizabeth out of habit, but his heart isn't in it.

Mitchell and Carter are waiting in the Earth 'gate room with Landry when John, Dr. Nelson, and Dr. Davis arrive. "When you're done being bored out of your skull, we owe you a drink," Mitchell says cheerfully, pointing at Carter.

John's been to any number of bars and harvest rituals with the best alcohol the Pegasus galaxy has to offer, but somehow the idea of throwing down tequila and swapping stories with Mitchell is disturbingly appealing.

* * *

Of SG-1, Mitchell is John's favorite. Teal'c scares him a little, Vala scares him a lot, Carter always seems wound too tight, and Dr. Jackson is always off in another world. But Mitchell is just a normal, laid-back sort of guy, that always wants to talk football ("Teal'c and Daniel just don't get it," says Mitchell, and John answers, "Try Rodney and Ronon"), understands the need to kick back with a beer, and never asks about all of the things John leaves out of his reports (a few planets with really loose rules about making new friends and suddenly John has a _reputation_).

The IOA are, as always, pompous and annoying and look down their collective noses at John's slouch, which is more pronounced than usual in the stiff chairs of the meeting room. They slide snide comments about his leadership into the dialogue, which is really more of a lecture than anything, but they don't fire him, at least not today.

Still, he's exhausted and pissed when he gets out and all he can think about is getting the hell off this planet. Five seconds into his internal rant, his phone rings. "Colonel Mitchell says you wanted to teach me about body shots," Vala says perkily. John does a complete emotional one-eighty and laughs so hard people on the street start to stare.

"I said nothing of the sort," Mitchell swears, having apparently wrested the phone from Vala's grip. "Sam's just done with her thing, you ready?"

"I'll have to change," he says, tugging at the dress blues.

"I like a man in uniform!" he hears Vala calling out in the background.

"Yeah, sure," says Mitchell, and rattles off the address of the hotel John can meet them at. Incidentally, the hotel is the same one where John is staying. It should be his first clue, but he's running on mental empty after the meeting and all he can think about is getting out of the blues, maybe a hot shower in there somewhere.

At the end of the hour, he's piling into a rental with the two lieutenant colonels and the one alien pirate-whatever. Vala demands shotgun and Mitchell glances into the backseat to offer apologetically, "We had to take her. Jackson was threatening to quit again."

This should be the second clue. Instead, he's looking over at Colonel Carter, who's trying to arrange herself comfortably in the small seats of the Toyota Echo (John thinks Vala requested the car; it's sort of cute, if you're into that sort of thing). She's in a pair of jeans and a red tank top thing that isn't military at all. John doesn't know Carter that well, only things he's heard through Mitchell or Rodney or Elizabeth, and thinks this is a good a time as any. He wants to ask what she's doing in Washington, but decides he doesn't really want to know and instead inclines his head in the direction of the front seat to ask, "They always like this?"

Vala's futzing with the radio, which has no presets and is occasionally blaring static when she strikes on the AM button. Mitchell keeps swatting her away, trying to get the station back to some classic rock thing. Carter shrugs. "Kinda, yeah."

John has Rodney, so he sort of gets it. "I'm sorry."

At this, she just grins a little. "You've met General O'Neill."

He's certainly heard the stories— while Mitchell's SG-1 seems perfectly demented, O'Neill is the poster child for batshit crazy (a clever ruse for his military ruthlessness, John understands, but he also knows that all good lies are based partly in reality). Encouraged, he launches into a story of the time he and Ford tried to explain Monty Python to Teyla. Before long, Mitchell is screaming "Fetch the cushions!" and pounding his fist against the steering wheel, Carter is shaking her head with silent almost-tears of laughter, and Vala is looking back and forth between the two of them saying, "But cushions aren't threatening at all."

Mitchell makes a right turn and says, "We're here." Carter says, "Ni," and Mitchell bumps the curb as he parks, giggling too hard to judge the distance. John thinks for the fourteenth time, not that he's counting, that these people are all lunatics.

As much as John was desperate for an artificial pick-me-up, he and Carter put away only two tequilas each. Mitchell's nursing a beer with practiced casual cool. Vala's giddily sucking at the straw of her enormous, frothy, pink concoction, gaze riveted on the Red Sox-Yankees game ESPN's running. She pauses periodically to yell, "Kick some Yankee ass!," which earns the approval of a few guys in the corner, who don't realize she has no idea what she's saying, and who are Orioles fans, besides.

Sometime after the second drink, Mitchell is enthusing about something in an unusually low voice, low enough that Carter has to lean in to here. John fingers the peanut bowl and comments, "You guys are cute." They are, too. They completely give off the air of two people who've known each other a long time.

"Hear that?" Mitchell says, and pokes Carter. "We're cute."

She makes a face at him, but Mitchell doesn't seem to even care. He grins at John. "Always make it a point of cozying up to your scientist. You might need them some rainy day."

"The day I cozy up to McKay will be a dark day, all right," John says. Not that he's taking Rodney's abilities for granted by any stretch of the imagination, but he finds himself looking into Carter's eyes, which are very bright as she grins, either at him or Mitchell, he's not sure, and John's no longer thinking about his team or even wants to.

"What, you've never had a lonely night?" Vala postulates, coming back to fling her arms John's neck. Her breasts are pressing into his back and he tries not to notice. He thinks he's supposed to, judging by the way she squeezes a little tighter. When he doesn't react, she just spins away, makes flirty eyes at the bartender and asks for a refill. She slurs a word.

"What's the alcohol content in that?" John asks.

"She's faking it," Mitchell confides. "Apparently, faking inebriation is one of the top ten required skills of space pirating." He lets this sink in. "She can drink us all under the table."

"Oh yeah?" John's logged a good number of hours in sloshy tourist bars with fellow throttle jockeys and he's not a lightweight. Maybe he's gone a little soft since leaving the galaxy, but he refuses to be intimidated by Vala. "Wanna bet?"

Vala positively beams at this notion, and Mitchell clamps his hand over John's on the bar before John can signal for a new drink. "If you value your liver, or your own sense of personal pride, for the love of God, don't."

So John doesn't. He tries not to notice the calluses on Mitchell's hand, or the fact it stays there, warm and heavy, for a few seconds longer than is really necessary. Instead, he pops a peanut, and doesn't meet any of their eyes.

In half an hour, the Sox have suffered a deplorable loss, John is feeling pangs of underdog sympathy, Mitchell is on his third beer and railing about God-knows-what having to do with hospital nurses, Vala is shooting straw wrappers at the Orioles fans (she does the little finger-wiggle-giggle after every mark hit, so they haven't come to kill anyone yet), and Carter is drawing something complex-looking on a napkin.

"Baby, you spent the day in meetings, can you not bring work home with you?" Mitchell asks her.

"The world doesn't save itself, in case you hadn't noticed, Cam." The hard spin she puts on his name is payback for 'baby', John figures, just like he'd figured she didn't take too kindly to cutesy epithets.

"That's what Samantha's for," Vala declares fondly and rests her head on Carter's shoulder. Mitchell stares at John over the top of both of them. It's only for half a second, but the entire situation makes John's stomach knot.

"Okay, girls," Mitchell says, touching them both gently like he's rousing them from sleep, "time to go."

"You don't have to go home, but you can't stay here," John adds. Mitchell laughs at that one, which is John's cue maybe he shouldn't be driving. In the end, John mans the helm of the rental, which is a little like hell, since the others are all contributing directions. None of which seem to gel with any others. It's a miracle they make it back to Earth on a daily basis, he thinks, and pulls into the hotel parking lot without anyone's help.

"You coming with?" Mitchell says, slapping his hand against John's back. "Back to our room, I mean. I promise we're entertaining in a variety of different locales."

"Oh, I don't doubt that," John says before he can stop himself. A few paces ahead, Carter is tugging at Vala's ponytail. Vala retaliates by wrapping her scarf around Carter's middle and steering her around. "Yeah, I guess I could swing by for awhile. It's not like I'm going to do anything in my own room."

Mitchell hums along to elevator music, John discovers, which is a lot more amusing than it has any right to be.

Their room, like John's, has a queen-size bed and a futon couch. Unlike John's, this one is housing three people for two nights. It's probably more economic, John rationalizes. He's distracted from further thought because Carter is perusing the mini-bar, and Vala is spread out like a starfish on the mattress, bothering Mitchell about ordering Pay-Per-View porn.

"No," Mitchell says, diving in to snatch the remote from her. "Not while the room is under my name."

"You never let me have any fun."

"Some might say I let you have too much fun," he answers. "Go bug Sam."

"I see Sam all the time," says Vala. Instead, she ends up flinging herself onto John's lap in the slightly uncomfortable armchair and pets his head like he's a new toy. "How do you get your hair to do that?" She doesn't wait for an answer, throwing across the room, "You'd look better with it all spiky, Cameron." John finds himself wondering what that would look like. He also finds himself wondering just when Vala's going to get off him, because things are going to get very uncomfortable in a minute or so.

John's about to swallow his pride and ask Mitchell to call his sidekick off, but Mitchell is occupied with Carter. He's muttering something in her ear, then spins her about abruptly and they're _dancing_, for the love of God, and John is probably trapped.

Vala takes this opportunity to shove her tongue down John's throat, and in that moment, he realizes he's been completely had.

* * *

Vala's not the first alien John's made out with, and she might not even be the best, but she's certainly the most forward. The chair isn't really big enough to hold them both comfortably. Vala makes up for this by winding herself around John like a boneless serpent.

Mitchell has since stopped his attempted seduction of Carter via what was apparently a reenactment of scenes from _The Addams Family_, but whatever he was doing, it's clearly worked. Carter has Mitchell pressed against the wall, his hands stuffed in the back pockets of her jeans like they're a high school couple. John stares, eerily fascinated. Vala doesn't appreciate his distraction and takes off her shirt.

"Buh," says John, attention instantly grabbed. It's about all he can come up with at the moment. Part of him thinks this is a bad idea, and that is unfortunately the part that decides to speak up, "Put your shirt on." Vala is looking at him incuriously, and even he thinks it's kind of a dumb thing to say.

"I don't listen to them," she jerks her thumb over her shoulder, oh God, she's bouncing, "why should I listen to you?"

Infallible logic, really. Still, an irrational bout of willpower causes him to place his hands on her waist (safe territory), shift her aside, and say, "Guys?"

They break up. Mitchell has heavy-lidded eyes and the sort of irritatingly lazy grin that John is known for; Carter's hair is all tousled and her skin is flushed from her cheeks down her neck all the way down the skin exposed by her top, which John is beginning to notice is very low-cut.

Neither of them bugs out at Vala's wardrobe change, which sets off tiny alarms in John's brain. "What the hell was _in_ that drink?" he demands.

"Vala, go sit over there," Mitchell instructs with strained patience.

Vala pouts and flounces to the bed. John wonders if there's much point in attempting to disguise his hard-on. "If you people won't entertain me, I'll just have to entertain myself," she warns them.

"Vala, no. Sheppard's head will explode."

"Patience isn't Vala's forte," Carter says apologetically. John remembers there were a few SG-1 mission reports he'd read that ended up with alternate universe twins and things like that. He toys with this idea for a minute and dismisses it in the next. It's unlikely that he'd stepped through the wormhole straight to the soft core porn reality.

"Did I miss a memo or something?"

"I thought it was all very straightforward," Vala says.

And then, _and then_, it dawns. "You _planned_ this."

"In fairness, we didn't think you'd be coming so soon," says Carter.

"Oh, I hope he doesn't. I always figured all you military types had stamina," says Vala.

Mitchell is doubled over laughing.

"The emails," John pieces it together, "the photos..."

Carter punches Mitchell on the shoulder. "Photos?"

"Just a few!"

"Were they naughty?" says Vala. "I can put them on my MySpace."

"You're all insane," John says. "Every last one of you." He looks at Vala and wishes he hadn't; it's cold in the room. He shifts uncomfortably.

"You can leave if you want," Carter offers kindly. She's being really nice and he suddenly gets why Rodney's so obsessed with her.

John actually thinks about it for a minute, the same insane (bad insane) part of him that looked at Vala's chest and said 'wait a sec...' Then again, there is nothing appealing whatsoever about jerking off in a hotel bathroom when two floors up he could be engaging in who-knows-what with three people he'd clearly underestimated (not true: he'd expect this behavior of Vala, and he barely even knows her).

"I'll stay," he says and doesn't think he's ever seen Mitchell so cheerful.

"That's what I'm talking about," Mitchell says, which for some inexplicable reason sends the two women into hysterics.

"I don't get you guys," John says.

"What's to get?" postulates Carter brightly, sitting down on the bed.

"Samantha! Finally, someone to play with," Vala says. She throws herself giddily around Carter, balancing carefully on her knees with her breasts against Carter's shoulders, so she can slide her hands down the front of the colonel's shirt.

John figures he must look a little shell-shocked, because Mitchell is suddenly next to his chair with an understanding expression. "Done anything like this before?"

"Not since college. And not quite like this."

"I think they're bored with me," Mitchell admits.

In the interim, Vala and Carter have started sucking face as ardently as they did with either Mitchell or John. "I'm thinking not so much," John laughs, slightly deliriously.

"Well, no worries," Mitchell assures him. "We play nice." He thinks this over then adds, "Okay, Vala pulls hair, but other than that..."

"I think I can handle it," John says. Not the hair thing, though he's had an ex-girlfriend like that, and of any of them, Carter should be the most concerned and she's doesn't seem to be bothered. He thinks making the transition from 'uh...' to 'okay' is surprisingly easy. Then Mitchell is fisting his hand in the front of John's shirt and hauling him to his feet. Mitchell is actually a damn good kisser, John adds to the list of things he's learning about Cameron Mitchell today. And a little grabby, he's got John's hips in a vice grip with intent to bruise.

"Boys," Vala admonishes them, "share." When John finally bothers to look their way again, Carter's shirt is off, Vala's in her lap, and Mitchell is undoing John's fly. They're all certifiable, that's for sure, but John no longer gives a damn.

"Bite me," Mitchell growls at her, actually _growls_, sending a wave of hot desire down John's spine that he didn't see coming and is so glad is there.

"Gladly," she retorts without missing a beat. "But first you have to be over here. This bed is comfy, and I don't feel like leaving it if I don't have to."

"You are so goddamn demanding," says Mitchell, but he's already heading over with John in tow. Vala all but leaps on Mitchell, tossing him cavalierly to the mattress and straddling his lap.

John kicks off his shoes and gets on the bed next to Carter, who's smiling. "John."

"Sam," he says. He wonders when they graduated to a first-name basis, although he suspects it was about the time they started getting undressed. Vala is squirming out of her leather pants while Mitchell watches and laughs.

"You've gotta actually do something," Carter chastises him gently.

"I can probably manage that," he answers, pulling her towards him. Carter's built a little differently than Vala, holds herself a little more carefully. Military repression, he thinks, though she's obviously tossed that aside for the night. He runs his hands over her breasts and she groans a little into his mouth. John pushes her down, runs his tongue over her jaw, her collarbone, licks at the hollow of her neck.

He's going at it, dragging a nipple between his teeth, when he feels someone's hand on his ass. John knows where Carter's hands are, so it takes him by surprise. "Hi," Vala breathes in his ear, then says to Carter, "may I borrow him for a moment? Would you mind?"

"A little," says Carter, rolling her eyes. Vala hoists him into an upright position, drags his shirt up over his body, peels at his pants, sticks her hand down the back of his boxers and pinches at his ass.

"What, I have to undress myself?" Carter says.

"Everyone takes their pants off one leg at a time, Sam," Mitchell cracks.

Then with little pomp or circumstance, they're all naked. Vala's very prettily pale and Mitchell has an unflattering farmer's tan. John takes this all in and turns to Carter with what he hopes is an unaffected grin. "Where were we?" he says. She's smirking at him and he has no idea why, until something wet slides over his cock. He looks down and, oh hey, it's Vala.

"Vala doesn't really get the concept of 'borrowing' either," Carter adds, then John's no longer paying attention.

"Dear God," he croaks, struggling to maintain his balance. She's got him standing next to the bed with nothing to lean against in case his knees buckle, and something in the back of his mind realizes Vala's kinda cruel. Cruel, but so very, very good. He knows Mitchell knew about this, knew and never told him, the traitorous bastard. The image of Mitchell on the receiving end of one of Vala's blow jobs pops into his mind, and that's nearly as hot as the thing he's got going right now.

He half-expects to hear a quip from the peanut gallery, since John figures he must be making some unflattering faces right now, but the both of them appear to be otherwise occupied. Mitchell has his hand buried between Carter's legs and his face somewhere in the valley of her breasts. Carter mutters something to the effect of "Burgh, Cam." Facing his own impending orgasm, John opts for the more blunt, "Gah, Vala." She's standing up, wiping her mouth, John's stumbling weakly backwards and falling across the mattress, hitting his head against Mitchell's calf. There's a scar there, a few inches long and clean white against the darker skin tone of his leg. John licks it.

Mitchell mutters something potentially unfavorable, which John decides to ignore, since he's obviously occupied with Carter and maybe doesn't appreciate distraction. Vala has retreated to the head of the bed. John stretches himself out behind Mitchell, and wedges his hand in between Mitchell's and Carter's bodies. Tangled in a net of limbs, John seeks out Mitchell's cock and curls his fingers around it.

When Carter comes, she does so by moaning into Mitchell's body, looking over his shoulder at John. She holds his gaze, her eyes dark, lascivious, and utterly promising. John swallows hard and is so damn glad they conspired to bring him here. Too busy watching Carter, he's stopped paying attention to Mitchell, who grinds back against him in a not-so-subtle plea. "Whiner," John says, tugging at Mitchell's cock.

"I'm just so glad you're all having fun over there," Vala says loudly. John looks over; she's leaning back against a mass of pillows with her legs spread and has taken to amusing herself.

"You know, just for once, you could make it not all about you," says Carter, who obligingly retreats to give Vala a hand. John's watching them, fixated, squeezing Mitchell's balls while Mitchell rocks his hips back lazily. John doesn't feel tired at all, in fact, he feels like he's just getting started. He rolls Mitchell on his back and slides his tongue down the man's cock. From this angle, he can't really see Carter and Vala, but he can hear Vala's patterned heavy breaths and the varied permutations of Carter's name and rank. He can see Mitchell's face contorting as he chokes out John's name. It's good enough.

Carter's waiting for him when he's done (well, really, when Mitchell's done). She slides her arms around John's neck, melding her body to his as she kisses him and yanks him horizontal. "We were just getting started," she says. Damn, every last one of them is too hot.

"Yeah," he agrees throatily, tracing her body because unlike the other two, he hasn't yet had a chance to learn what she likes. The entire night is going to be a learning experience. Carter's eying him the same sort of way Rodney eyes some new Ancient device, and John knows he's going to be broken completely apart and put back together again. It sounds good.

"When you're done with him, I want to play too," Vala says.

"You know, I _am_ sitting right here," Mitchell complains.

"Oh be quiet and make yourself useful, before I ditch you completely in favor of a new model."

John can't figure out whether to be insulted or amused, but Carter's sort of grinding against him and it's hard to focus on much else. "Yeah, Cam," Carter echoes, "make yourself useful. Condoms are in my bag."

"Fetch... the condoms!" John cackles, delirious. He attributes this to the utter lack of blood going to his brain, it's all gone elsewhere.

"I have uses beyond fetching and carrying," Mitchell points out.

"I think Cameron is feeling deficient," Vala says pityingly, pinching him. First he swats her off, then he grabs her to him in a rough kiss. "Better," she says. She swats his ass as she sends him off for Carter's bag.

"Mm," Carter says, kissing his neck. "So, are you going to show Vala just how much stamina you have?"

"Was thinking about showing you first," he retorts.

Carter laughs and John is completely unwound. He lays back so Carter may have her way with him. Of all the ways he's had to prove himself in the past few years, this is probably the best.

* * *

When John wakes up in the morning, he's got the sticky sheets wrapped around his knees. Vala has stolen the covers and is completely engulfed in them. The only evidence of her existence is the shock of dark hair peering out. Carter and Mitchell generously offered to take the fold-out couch (since John was the guest, and since Vala protested loudly). When he pads out sleepily to check on them, Carter's snoring and Mitchell's head is under a pillow.

He sneaks back to his own hotel room without waking the others. He's dropping the money on the hotel room and so far hasn't spent more than a total of ten minutes in it, but he has time enough now for a decent shower before he gets ready for another meeting.

The IOA is already pretty fed up with John, he knows, but he can't help being more useless than ever today. They're talking about building an alpha site on one of the friendly planets, so they can ship a few more scientists out. Woolsey's going over a list of projected figures and John is reliving the memories of Vala pinning Mitchell down, Carter digging her heels into John's back. He's just thinking about what Mitchell said right before he bit John's neck, when Woolsey cuts in, "Did you bring Dr. Weir's report?" John stares at each of them haplessly and thinks this is it, this is how SG-1 became collectively nutjob.

When he finally gets out of the damn conference room, he's cursing to himself all the way outside. "Never again, not a chance in hell." He's trying to figure out how best to bribe Elizabeth into making sure John's always 'busy' when these get-togethers roll around, when a car horn breaks into his train of thought. The Echo is waiting. "We're kidnapping you!" Vala greets him from the backseat.

"You might not want to say that so loud here," Mitchell suggests.

John climbs in the car, feeling like the center of attention in his dress blues. The others are all casual, jeans and t-shirts for enjoying the sunny day. "Brought a change of clothes for you, flyboy," Mitchell reads his mind, pulling into traffic. "Easier for you to blend in. Although you look damn good, I might add."

"Thanks," says John and reaches for his collar.

"Oh, let me," Vala says enthusiastically. "This is my favorite part."

"It's all your favorite part," Carter calls back.

"I'm a girl with varied tastes." Within minutes, she has him undressed in the backseat of the rental in the middle of DC afternoon traffic and just when things are about to get interesting, Mitchell says, "We don't have time," and Vala hands John his shirt with a modicum of regret.

"Why don't we have time?" John asks, sliding the shirt over his head. The people in the next car are staring at him.

"I made lunch reservations." Mitchell catches his eye in the rearview mirror. "Figured after last night, the least we could do was feed you."

"Most people do the dinner first," John says.

"Would've interfered with the alcohol we were plying you with," Carter answers.

For some reason, this is the part of the trip that breaks John's brain and he has a laughing fit in his boxers and an Orioles t-shirt.

"Sam told us about this place," Mitchell says. "How do you feel about red meat?"

John leans forward and slides his hand under Mitchell's lap belt. "Love it. But I thought you said we didn't have time."

Carter's giggling like a madwoman. "Oh, we are so keeping him."

"Yay!" says Vala. "I don't want to send him back to Pegasus." She clings to his back and John shuffles awkwardly into the borrowed pair of pants around her. He's just jamming his feet into shoes when Mitchell kills the engine.

"Steak, yeah," Mitchell intones. He looks at John seriously. "If your heart explodes from the sheer manliness of it all, don't blame me."

"He's just so thrilled to have a testosterone buddy, it's sad," Carter says.

"What about Teal'c?" says Vala.

"Have you tried talking to Teal'c? It's like talking to a wall. A big wall that could kill me with one bicep and wouldn't feel any regret about it."

"We'll protect you," Vala simpers, jumping him. "In exchange for... favors, of course."

"They're very demanding," Mitchell tells John.

"Oh, you poor man," John says with the best mock pity he can muster.

On the way into the restaurant, Vala continues to wrap herself around Mitchell almost obscenely, showing him the horrors of being smothered with affection. She's making loud smooching sounds and Carter says to John, "I can't take them anywhere."

Inside, though, they're all surprisingly well-behaved. Sure, Vala takes it upon herself to steal samples from everyone's plate, even Carter's, even though they ordered the same thing, and Mitchell at one point laughs so hard that between the tears streaming from his eyes and the weird snorting sounds he's making, he has to fend off a waiter who thinks he's choking. But other than that, they're fine.

It's the ride back to the hotel where things start to go south, behavior-wise. There's some rap song on the radio that's borderline pornographic and Vala climbs out of her coveted shotgun position to clamor onto Carter's lap in the backseat. John is overcome with a burst of admiration for Mitchell; he knows they can't be like this all the time, but with the potential prospects dangling in front of him, it's a wonder Mitchell is ever able to keep his head.

"You guys are evil," Mitchell says. He's watching them in the mirror.

Vala pulls John over and starts kissing him instead. Carter's tongue is on his neck. Someone's hands are under his shirt. "Evil, evil, evil," says Mitchell, sounding strained. John grabs Vala's breasts and stares at Mitchell in the mirror. Someone, he's pretty sure it's Carter now, is undoing his fly. The car swerves.

"Eyes on the road, Cameron," Carter says.

"I hate you," Mitchell says.

John just laughs and enjoys the ride.

* * *

"Picked up Rodney's snack for you," Carter tells him the next afternoon, handing him a freezer-burned box of Hot Pockets. Condensation is dripping on the 'gate room floor and one of the corners of the box is dented. Rodney, typically, will probably focus on that rather than the twenty-four count of artificial whatever John went out of his way to get him. Well, made Carter get. "You're gonna tell him they're from me, aren't you?" she guesses.

"I'll tell him you touched them," John shrugs. "I figure after this trip, it's the least I can do. If Rodney ever finds out... well, let's just say there aren't enough Hot Pockets in the world to placate him."

"Just don't tell him then," she grins. "We want you in one piece, after all."

"Agreed," says Mitchell, pounding him on the back. "You be careful out there. Call if you need help."

"You've got enough stuff to do," John scoffs.

"Well, keep it in mind. Don't be a stranger."

"Got any more clichés you want to throw at him, Cam?" says Carter. She gives John a final hug. "But he's right." John nods and knows there's probably going to be a new series of perverted emails waiting for him, from all three of them. He's really looking forward to it.

Vala kisses his cheek and draws back to clutch at his hand. "You were such fun," she says forlornly. "They never let me do anything." She glances over at Mitchell and Carter, who are standing like stern discipline twins, arms crossed over their chests. "Can't I go with him?"

"No," says Mitchell firmly, pulling her back. "I will not be responsible for unleashing you on yet another unsuspecting galaxy."

Vala makes a 'blah blah blah' face in a perfect imitation of an obnoxiously bored teenager. Mitchell hits his 'com. "The last group is ready, Colonel Caldwell." John lifts his hand in a casual wave, then everything flashes white and he's back on the _Daedalus_ with a defrosting box of Hot Pockets in his hand and a crumpled Baltimore Orioles shirt in his pack.

"Have a good trip, Sheppard?" Caldwell asks.

John smiles noncommittally; it's what the man expects of him. "Nothing to write home about." The ship preps for hyperspeed and John shuffles off to his quarters, off-duty and anticipating a long nap. He's earned it.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Mnemosyne](https://archiveofourown.org/works/70100) by [NeoVenus22](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeoVenus22/pseuds/NeoVenus22)




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